


touch me (love me)

by Onehelluvapilot



Series: Camelove [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Getting Together, Implied/Referenced Sex, Innuendo, Insecurity, M/M, Massage, Wing Grooming, Wingfic, good communication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 08:49:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29311368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Onehelluvapilot/pseuds/Onehelluvapilot
Summary: Gwaine comes to Lancelot's room after the knight returns home from patrol.
Relationships: Gwaine/Lancelot (Merlin)
Series: Camelove [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2151081
Comments: 6
Kudos: 14
Collections: Camelove 2021





	touch me (love me)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LiGi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiGi/gifts).



Lancelot yawned, stretching his arms upward and his wings out behind him as far as he could. The tips of his flight feathers brushed against the door, even though he stood nearly against the far wall. Arthur had made him a knight, which he was extremely grateful for, but hadn’t managed to get the commoners good quarters. They consequently all tried to cool down gradually up on the parapet after patrol with some stretches and gentle exercises. One still tended to get stiff afterwards though, without proper space to stretch or a squire to preen you.  
There was a knock on the door. Gwaine opened it half a second later without waiting for an invitation, which meant that he got to walk into a mass of feathers because Lancelot hadn’t moved his wings. He pushed them out of the way and their owner gathered them back against him. Gwaine was left with a feather sticking out of his mouth, but he managed to make it look good. He quirked it upwards with a smile on his lips.  
"I heard you got rained on during patrol," he said, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. His own wings, naturally a royal blue but kept stained brown so he could pass as a peasant, were tucked away under his cloak.

"It was just a drizzle," Lancelot replied, though his feathers were damp and he risked catching cold if he left them that way to sleep. He was too tired to preen them himself. It was a good thing Gwaine was here, then. 

"You're still wet though," he said with less innuendo in his voice than he might have used. He took a towel down from where it had been hanging on the back side of the door. "Will you let me?" He asked, gesturing to the wings. Lancelot nodded and lay down on his stomach on the bed. Gwaine sat on its edge and drew his left wing into his lap. Gently, he began sifting through his long flight feathers, fingers both strong and deft as only a soldier's could be. The feeling of them was familiar, in Lance's wings, on his shoulders, squeezing his thighs. This had become a habit of theirs, following the other to their room, and eventually to bed, following patrol. Sometimes it was just to preen, though that was an intimate enough gesture between equals, and sometimes it became something more. Neither of them ever stayed the night.

Lancelot groaned when Gwaine ran his hands, fingers spread wide, through his feathers. It was similar to how he'd slide a hand up in his hair, to the crown of his head before clenching his hair in strong grip and pulling. Sometimes it was to expose his neck for bruises to be sucked onto it, sometimes to guide his mouth, sometimes to get him to look back over his shoulder so Gwaine could see him come undone.

He didn't tug this time, as feathers were more sensitive than hair, and instead simply straightened them out. Lancelot's wings were a deep reddish brown, still a peasant color but pushing towards russet. "Red wings," Gwaine had said when they'd first done this. They'd been a little redder then, stained with his blood from the wound taken regaining the citadel. "Clearly, you were born to be a knight of Camelot."

Lancelot was the only one to know the true color of Gwaine's wings. Even Merlin, who was the only other to know of his noble birth, has never seen his royal blue wings. "The color of twilight," he'd exclaimed then he'd seen them. The two of them had been granted a vacation and flown to a lake in the mountains. Lance had pushed him into the water, and immediately the dye he used to stain them had begun to wash out. After an hour of swimming and roughhousing in the water, they'd stretched out on the shore and as they dried, the color of Gwaine's wings seemed to shine brighter and brighter. "Blue like the water." When one feather had come out as Lancelot had been preening him, he'd slipped it into his pack for safekeeping. He'd nearly wept when they'd dyed his wings back to brown, already missing their beauty.

He was nearly weeping now, from Gwaine's hands on him. The knight had gently dried and straightened his feathers and now was massaging the tight muscles in his wings. It hurt, in the best way possible.

"Where did you learn how to do this so well?" He asked with a moan.

"Do you really want to know?" Gwaine asked, working his thumbs up into the muscles where his wings met his back. He turned around and knelt on the bed, leaning over Lance in the way that sent shivers down his spine.

"No, probably not," he agreed. His voice was almost slurred with how relaxed he was. He tensed up with a gasp though when Gwaine moved one leg over to the other side of his back so he was straddling his hips. "Oh gods," he muttered into the sheet.

"Does that feel good?" He teased. "Or is it just the anticipation of something more?"

"A little of both?" He groaned again as a thumb dug into the tight muscle of his shoulder blade. “Will you…” he started to ask, but trailed off before finishing the question.

“What?” Gwaine prodded, as he prodded the knot where his wing connected to his back. “It’s okay. Whatever it is, you can ask. I won’t have it said that I’m an inattentive lover.”

“No, it’s not about that,” Lancelot corrected. “Or not exactly. I was just wondering… Would you want to stay the night?”

“Oh.” Gwaine’s hands stilled where they had started working on the other man’s second wing. It was just a second before he began straightening out the feathers again, starting with the small ones near the base of the limb, but he stayed silent.

“Have I actually managed to shock you into speechlessness?” His tone was teasing, but if he had to admit it, Lance was actually worried. Was the idea of staying and sleeping with him really such a despicable idea to Gwaine that he couldn’t even articulate an answer? Was he trying to come up with a polite way to reply ‘Not a chance in Hell?’

“Well, a little, honestly,” the other knight admitted. His fingers still traced through his wing, gentle as could be as he smoothed out the longer flight feathers. He moved off of straddling his waist so that he could better reach Lancelot’s right wing, and they both immediately missed it. “Not in a bad way, though. I just… I never thought you wanted me to stay.” At that proclamation Lance was the one stuck dumb.

“What… what gave you that impression?” he asked.

“You’re just… well, you aren’t very affectionate.”

“Am I not?” He thought he had been, especially when they went on their vacation together, but he supposed maybe that had dropped off when they came back. Gwaine, who presumably had much more experience with this kind of thing, would know better than he would.

“No. Well, not any more than you are with anyone else.” That was admittedly quite a lot, as Lancelot never shied away from expressing his love for his friends. But he supposed he didn’t seek out Gwaine particularly, and his first instinct wasn’t always to kiss him when he arrived in their rooms at night.

“Oh. I’m sorry if I made you feel… unwanted. That was never my intention.” He leaned up onto his knees and turned to look at the other man, careful not to hit him with his wings as he did so. “I do want to be with you. I’m just not very good at any of this. I’ve never been in a real relationship before.”

“Really?” Gwaine asked gently. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that-”

“No, it’s alright. I know it’s odd that a man my age has never gone out with someone.”

“I always assumed you and Merlin had been together.”

“Oh!” Lancelot giggled at that. “No, we’re just good friends.”

“Well that’s good to hear. It would have been awkward if both of us had dated Merlin.” Lancelot gaped, somehow smiling with his mouth open, and Gwaine realized he was going to be questioned mercilessly about it if he didn’t interrupt that train of thought. “Now, we were talking about us, let’s not derail the conversation,” he replied with a blush. “Speaking of which, I would love to stay the night. As long as you’re not…”

“I’m not what?”

“It’s nothing, really,” he said, ducking his head away. Lancelot reached over to cradle his jawline with one hand, and even raised a wing to keep him from escaping off the bed, had that been his intention.

“Gwaine.”

“Just… I don’t want to get closer if you’re going to leave.”

“I’m not going to abandon you,” Lancelot reassured him. “Even if it doesn’t work out between us, I’ll still be your friend.”

“That’s perfectly acceptable,” the knight said, breathing an internal sigh of relief as he tried to hide how worried he had really been. He turned his head to catch the man’s wrist against his lips, kissing it softly. “And in that case...” he said, breaking the kiss off from his wrist and leaning forward to capture his lips instead. It quickly became passionate, as their hands came up to cup each other's face or shoulders and their wings lifted to wrap around each other’s bodies.


End file.
